The Dixon Way
by Rising-From-The-Ground
Summary: When the world goes to shit and riots break out in the city, a terrified hairdresser barricades herself in the staffroom despite her co-worker's screams. A week later she knows that she'll starve to death... unless she escapes. It will take thinking like a Dixon to survive. DarylxOC Before the quarry M for extreme language and later scenes
1. Almost

**CHAPTER ONE: ALMOST**

* * *

She squeezed her eyes shut and held a new, shiny pair of hair scissors tight to her chest as she tried desperately to build up the nerve she needed to face what was out in the shop. Light groaning complimented by the dull, constant smell of decaying flesh surrounded her hiding place, making her feel like she was on the edge of puking; lord knows she'd already done it often enough.

Only a week ago when the dead started to walk and her workplace had been overrun during her shift, she had taken shelter in the small staff room, blocking the entryway with the heavy lunch table as she tried to come to terms with what was happening outside. Isolated, with no electricity or form of communication, she had barely survived off what had been left in the cupboards, which hadn't been a lot bar a few cans of fruit salad and corn. During her first day of being trapped, an hour after the power had been cut, she had realised that the staff lunches left over in the fridge would soon go off, and she had gladly eaten as much as she could in an attempt to fill up and save her nose from the smell of rotted food later on.

The days in the staff room had passed slowly, the small window at the top of the wall being her only indication of days going by. Her days were filled with terror and boredom as she listened to the groaning just outside the barricaded door, waiting as patiently as possible to be rescued. The nights however, the nights were the worst. Logically, she knew that she wasn't in more danger during the night than she was during the day, having never been that scared of the dark past the age of twelve, but there was just something -_horrific_- about not being able to see, not being able to try and protect herself properly if the occasion arose. Plus, she was tired at night. She was tired and lethargic, her movements slow and heavy whilst it was dark, leaving her vision compromised as well. At night she was nothing more than a harmless hunk of meat, just waiting to be ripped apart by those _things _just outside the door.

Despite being so tired, she barely did get any sleep -three hours a night at most- the adrenalin coursing through her body whenever she heard a noise outside, leaving her heart racing and her mind on full-alert.

Now, she crouched behind the table with a shiny pair of scissors, hunger and impatience driving her from her hiding place. As soon as she moved the table they would all know she was there. The sheer terror of having them come after her almost made her hunker back in the corner of the room as she slowly starved to death, but she knew that she couldn't do that to herself. If she were to be ripped apart, she figured that she would at least pass out from fear before she was ripped to shreds; she probably wouldn't feel much at all. Maybe.

"One, two, three,"She whispered as she breathed in deeply, placing a quivering hand on the edge of the table, ready to drag it. "One, two, three,"She placed her other hand and weapon on the table, ready to drag it back, leaving her totally exposed to the dead walking around. "One, two- oh God I can't!" Her voice broke at the end and she fell backwards, palms rubbing her eyes as she tried desperately to catch her breath and calm down. Tears ran down her cheeks, leaving wet tracks and a salty taste in her mouth as she rocked on the spot, drawing her knees tightly to her chest. "I have to," She muttered absently, "I have to -_fuck-_I _have to._" In and out she breathed, untensing her muscles and slowly coming to a stand, placing her hands on the table, ready to drag. "Come on, come on, I have to -_have to- _do this." Her hands shook as she braced herself, tensing her muscles, preparing to pull. "Like a bandaid," She whispered, "Just like a bandaid."

"Don't be a fucking _chicken." _ She moaned, as if in pain, and pulled as hard as she could.

The table was heavier than she remembered as she dragged it backwards. Immediately, she heard the sounds of the dead, groaning, moaning, snapping their infected mouths, dragging their heavy limbs as they came closer and closer to the door. There was no backing out now.

She grabbed her scissors hard in her hand, adrenalin crashing through her body as they got closer to her. If she didn't move now, she'd be trapped, and sure enough, the door cracked open, revealing a single grey sickly coloured hand. Terrified, she threw herself forward and screamed, her body taking over, her survival instinct piloting her every move. She flung herself forward through the door, screaming loud as the dead scratched at her, their mouths hungry for fresh flesh. She tripped over a hair dryer and lost her footing, crashing painfully to the ground, her scissors stabbing her painfully in the bicep.

The muscles in her arm cramped as the blood soaked through her skivvy and she screamed louder, drawing more of the dead into the salon as she pulled the scissors out of her own flesh.  
More of the dead stumbled through the front door from the street, moving toward her. Cold hands pawed her exposed ankle and looked back as she kicked, finding one of the dead right there, dead flesh dangling from its snapping mouth. She screamed harder, tears falling from her eyes and she kicked helplessly, trying to crawl to one of the client benches so that she could pull herself up from the floor.

The dead were closing in on her, dragging their feet, opening and closing their mouths wordlessly, hungering for the meat on her body. She was crying now as she grabbed the edge of a bench and pulled herself upwards with both hands, screaming as her injured arm cramped with the effort and more blood soaked her clothing. Once up she pawed aimlessly for anything, having lost her scissors on the floor during her weak getaway. She grabbed the first thing her hand came into contact with -thankfully another pair of scissors- and she stumbled to the next bench, slashing her new weapon through the air. She let the bench support her as five of the dead stumbled within a couple of meters of her. Two more of them dragged themselves through the entryway, leaving her with seven threats, seven _things _hanging for the chance to rip her apart.

She grabbed for the wall as she attempted to move and screamed when her arm cramped again. She was close to the front of the store, one more bench and she would be there. She shouldered the wall, leaving her blood smothered against it and pulled herself painfully to the next bench. Her body, already weak from lack of food and sleep, took on a heavy, lethargic feeling and she felt her head throb. She was losing too much blood.

Dizzy and nauseas, she stumbled for the exit, barely unable to keep her body from collapsing. She pressed one hand to her injured arm and she screamed feebly, praying helplessly for someone to find her, anyone at all.

She screamed again, her voice weak and breathy, breaking. She had lost to much blood, she was going to die, she was going to be torn apart.  
She looked behind her into the lifeless eyes of the dead woman stumbling toward her, praying that it would be quick when suddenly, out of nowhere, she heard a loud bang.

Never, in her entire life, had she ever been happy to hear a gunshot.

"H-help m-me please," She feebly croaked, her hands shaking as she dropped the scissors and let them clatter to the floor. Pressing her hand to her bicep she tried screaming again, trying desperately to catch their attention, wherever they were. The gunshot had been close, maybe a couple of doors down.

Footsteps. Running.

She stumbled to the ground and with as much effort as she could muster, she cried for the stranger outside. Cheeks wet and eyes puffy, blood covering her clothing and smeared over her face she croaked again, "Help m-me ple-please, please h-help." She pressed her hand hander on her bicep to try and stop losing blood, but it was useless.

"Help-" She barely voiced and collapsed further to the ground. Dead people closed in on her and she tried to scream, knowing that she was about to die.

Bang!

Bang, bang, bang!

She opened an eye, her vision blurring from tears and blood loss. "Help," She croaked in another pitiful attempt to be heard, "Please help me."

Then, the world was black.

* * *

When Merle Dixon went on a supply run to Atlanta, he didn't think for a second that he would end up half-supporting half-dragging a nearly dead chick from a hair salon.

She had been weak when he found her, crying, calling out, bleeding everywhere; a liability. Yet he had saved her, if only because she would be a hot fuck later on. A small part of him, an _incredibly_ small part of him had felt pity for the half-dead bitch as he watched her collapse to ground, shaking, holding her bleeding arm as the walkers closed in her.

Well, he _did_ always fancy himself a hero.

He chuckled to himself, he, Merle Dixon, some bitch's saviour. Hell, she'd owe him big time when she woke up. Maybe he _would _get himself a good fucking after all. He'd been complaining to Daryl for the past few days how _horny _he was and how desperate he was to get high again; maybe this girl -bitch, skank, whatever- would help relieve some of the tension that'd been building over the week.

He lugged her toward a closed-off alley, separated from the street by a high wire fence, and pulled her inside the gate, slamming and locking it shut behind them. He pulled her drooping body toward the truck as his brother appeared where he was loading supplies into the trailer on the back. He wiped his hands on the sides of his shirt and pointed at her with one of the damn arrows he always carried with him.

"Watcher got there?" Daryl asked, jumping down from the trailer and landing hard footed on the ground.

"Found 'er nearly bein' eaten," Merle supplied. He opened the car door and shoved her roughly onto the back seat, rubbing the sweat from his brow. He turned toward his brother who was standing behind him, craning his neck to take a peek at the passed-out girl. "Purty lil' thing ain't she brother?" He said proudly.

Daryl remained silent for a moment, leaning onto the car and crossing his arms, looking at her carefully. "She bit?"

"Naw, just a lil' prick on the arm; reckon it was them scissors she were holdin' when I found 'er."

Daryl moved in closer to get a better look at her. "That ain't no lil' prick, Merle, that's a fuckin' gash. Lost a lotta blood I think," He squinted and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fuckin' hell Merle, what're we gunna do with an injured chick?"

Merle waggled his brows, "Whatever we want lil' brother."

Daryl turned around and breathed out harshly, slamming his fist on the roof of the truck. "Damn! Merle you can't just pick up any little hussy ya want and think it's okay to fuck 'er, what the hell?"

"You ain't got no balls Darylina, that's what's wrong with ya, ain't never had any and ain't never will." He chuckled again before opening the passenger side door and rifling through the glove box as he tried to locate the first aid kit. She wouldn't be a good fuck dead, he'd be damned if he ever entered a cold pussy. "Ya got any bandages and that antiseptic stuff in here Darylina?" He called over his shoulder to his brother who was angrily tossing supplies around in the back. He received nothing but a slammed fist and he sneered, knowing very well that he'd pushed his brother's buttons. If Merle was good at anything, it was pressing buttons. There was nothing that he enjoyed more than the satisfaction he got from annoying the shit out of someone.

After a while he found the bandages and the antiseptic and was working on wrapping up her arm in the car. It was difficult to do, considering the car was so small and he was leaning over from the front seat; he wasn't a small guy, and his big frame was making it hard to move.

Eventually though, he was satisfied that the wound had been wrapped properly. Daryl had been right before when he said that it wasn't a just a prick, it _was _a fuckin' deep gash, and she had already lost a lot of blood. Probably hadn't eaten for days either, seeing as how delirious she'd been when he'd found her. All he could do now was wait for her to wake up and give her a feed, see if she was up for a fuck. Even if she wasn't he'd do it anyway, make it worth her while.

As if he could read his thoughts, Daryl appeared in the door way, wiping the sweat from his brow as he leaned on the car. "Ya ain't gonna fuck her Merle, as soon as she's awake we're leavin' her right here, she's a lost cause, prob'ly be scared outta her mind, start screamin', draw in those walkers."

Merle smirked at his brother and chuckled. "Ya scared, brother? Scared of a lil' purty girl?"

Daryl huffed, "I ain't scared of no girl."

He tapped his fingers on the roof of the truck and walked away, muttering explicatives under his breath. _Fuckin' Merle bringing girls back, always the fuckin' same._ Hell, he'd done it before the world went to shit! Ain't nothing, not even the damn apocalypse would change his brother. Tough as nuts that ugly shit was.

Daryl looked in the direction of the girl once he'd reached the back of the truck, and swore. What the hell were they going to do with a girl? From what Merle had described she seemed to be weak as hell, scared out of her damn mind, quivering and shaking; shit, she'd be a huge fuckin' liability. They didn't have time to deal with this damn stuff.

But what could he do? He wasn't gonna try and argue with Merle about it anymore, the damn shit head was as stubborn and simpleminded as a mule, there was no way in hell that he'd be changing his mind. He hoped that she woke soon though, it was getting dark out and he didn't have the time to sit up all night and make sure she didn't die and wake up as a walker. Merle wouldn't care, but Daryl certainly did; he didn't want his ass to be walker meat.

"Fuckin' hell Merle," He muttered as he lit a cigarette. "Fuckin' hell."

* * *

There was a pain in her arm, a stabbing pain that hit one spot each time, deep under her flesh, spreading around her bicep like some kind of flesh earth quake, hitting at the epicentre and spreading out in a circle. It _ached. _She moaned softly from the pain of it, finding her mouth dry as hell. She wished that she had a bottle of water or something.

There was a rustling noise from somewhere close to her left and panic immediately slammed through her. She quickly opened her eyes and tried as hard as she could to roll away from whatever it was, instead coming into contact with something hard and covered in material. She croaked, unable to scream with such a scratchy, dry throat and panicked, flailing everywhere. She needed to escape, to get away, to move. Oh God it was just one nightmare after the other! She opened her mouth to try and scream again when something - a hand?- pushed down hard on her mouth.

"Shhhhhh! Good lord girl you'll have 'em coming from miles!" She heard a gruff voice whisper. A human. She stopped trying to scream but struggled to get free from his hand. "For love of God," He whispered again, "Stop tryin' ta move!" Her movements waned a fraction, his voice was harsh. "I ain't letting go 'till you stop moving, you don't know where we are, outside there're them things everywhere. You run and they'll go after ya." He was logical, she figured, and he was human. Her running would do nothing, plus, from the sounds of him, he was rough. She wouldn't be able to outrun him. Maybe. She was quick though, maybe she could, maybe she could try-

"Don't fuckin' think on it, ya stupid?" Damn.

Her eyes were slowly starting to adjust to the low lighting. Judging by his position to her side and the small space she was on, she was in a car. Her head was hitting something metal behind her; probably a door, and the hard thing on her side which had been blocking her was most likely the back of a seat. Yep, she was definitely in a car.

She was safe. Well, relatively safe.

She remembered the snapping mouths, pale eyes and the smell of dead flesh. The moaning, the groaning, the cold hands grabbing at her ankles as she struggled to escape. The snapping, the sheer terror she felt when they closed in on her; yet she was _alive. _

He'd saved her.

She relaxed her body, assured that someone who saved her from being walker lunch wasn't about to kill her just for the sake of killing her. He seemed to relax as well, because she heard a sigh of relief and the hand covering her mouth was removed.

"Fuckin' chicks," She heard him mumble. "Don' know how to survive," He handed her an open bottle of water then, leaning over to make sure that she didn't spill it anywhere. She eagerly took the crunchy plastic and gulped the liquid down her parched throat. God she was so _thirsty. _

He let her drink for a bit and once she was done, he took the bottle and watched her for a moment, taking in her shaggy appearance; her hair stuck up in odd clumps all over the place and dry snot was crusted under her nose. She looked up at him and blinked, trying to get her eyes to adjust to the lack of light.

"What's yer name?" He asked her when he put the bottle back in the glove box.

A moment passed as she got her throat to work properly. Croaking, she replied, "B-Bec. Rebecca."

"Ya had a lucky break, girl, hope ya know that."

She rubbed her eyes, all she could smell was decaying flesh and see the pale hands gabbing her. She shuddered, "I know."

* * *

**What d'you think? Does this have enough potential? Please leave me a review and give me your thoughts! What do you think of Rebecca, and do you like how I've portrayed Daryl and Merle?  
Basically, this story will follow canon as much as possible, with Rebecca added in of course. I'm new to writing OCs, so I'm trying to make her as real and close to life as possible. If she seems too whiny, I'm sorry, but she's just a whiny person and I've made her that way so that it a) leaves room for character development, and b) grinds Daryl's gears as much as possible. **

**So leave me a review please and let me know if you're interested to read more! **


	2. Escape

**CHAPTER TWO: ESCAPE**

* * *

After her exchange with the man there'd been silence, which had been embarrassingly broken by the sound of her stomach protesting the lack of food she'd consumed over the week. The man, whoever he was, had sighed, opened his side of the car, and had then proceeded to walk somewhere around the back where she heard a lot of rustling and movement. Not twenty seconds had passed when the door near her head suddenly opened, and she was forced to sit up.

Her arm throbbed deeply when she moved, cramping up and making her grit her teeth in pain. It didn't help that she was still dizzy and could feel another headache forming, either. She'd kill for a couple of panadol right now, maybe even something stronger, like nuerofen.

Sadly, it was the apocalypse, so medication was probably pretty scarce.

"Here, get some food into ya." The man handed her a can of something, and she accepted it gratefully, dying to have some form of nourishment. She couldn't wait to eat it -whatever it was- but quickly realised that she had a problem.

"Do you have a- a spoon or something? Cutlery?" If she could see his face, she would bet that he was rolling his eyes, or pulling a face, or doing something that matched the disgruntled sigh that he'd just emitted. She was almost certain that he swore under his breath. Suddenly she felt a tiny bit self-conscious; she wasn't used to doing things wrong. Heck, she didn't even know that she _was_ doing anything wrong. Apparently she was though, and she didn't like the feeling that gave her.

"Use yer hands," The male replied. "Ain't got time for no cutlery." She heard him move back into the front seat and felt the car bump under his weight. No cutlery for her, then.

It was so dark; she could just barely make out his silhouette in the front seat, and another one -bigger than the first- in the passenger side. She figured they were two men and judging by the 'no need for cutlery' stance the first one had, and the southern twang, she assumed that they were pretty rough- probably went camping a lot, maybe hiking as well, judging by the fact that they were in North Georgia.

Desperate for food, she conveniently forgot her issues with not having any cutlery (it was the end of the world, what did it matter?) and she lifted the tin to her lips, inwardly rejoicing as she felt the sweet, smooth liquid glide across her tongue and down her throat. Canned pineapple chunks, the sort that reminded her of her grandmother's family favourite Christmas Punch.

It hadn't been the first time that she'd thought of her family since the outbreak. Hell, in the staffroom she'd thought of it often enough and had had a pretty good cry over it. She doubted they were alive; certainly not her sickly mother who'd been in hospital at the time fighting a fever. She'd only been in there a day before all hell broke loose.

She swallowed her sadness, not feeling comfortable crying in front of strangers, and especially not when she'd already made one of them scoff at her, making her feel stupid. She didn't want to seem like she was the third wheel or something and be a drag. Damn, she felt like the annoying little sibling who tagged along with their older brother and his friends to the movies at the insistence of mom, and it had only been a few hours. Not even the other one was awake yet.

It felt very quiet all of a sudden, and she felt another twist of self consciousness build in her- was she breathing too loud? Attempting to break the silence, she cleared her throat.

"Uh, the can- where do you want me to put it?" She asked in the general direction of the man. She heard a soft grunt in reply and something that sounded like 'ground outside', but she couldn't be sure because his voice sounded like it was muffled. She didn't think that he was a very good communicator.

After she had placed the can outside, it was silent again. Too silent. God, she hated it when it was silent, it reminded her of her awkward middle-school days when she'd try to sit with a group of girls from her form at the insistence of the well-being counsellor and they'd all go completely silent until she felt uncomfortable enough that she would excuse herself and leave. It had been a long time since middle-school, but God, she sure felt like an awkward teenager right then.

"Have you got a name?" She nearly hit herself. "I mean, I know you have a name, but uh, what is it?"

She was surprised when he answered her; she half expected him to remain completely silent because he just didn't seem like the talking type.

"Daryl."

"It's nice to meet you, Daryl," She didn't question him for a little while, instead feeling very unsure of what she was supposed to do. The situation was extremely strange; she'd escaped from the staffroom and had nearly been killed, which was not something that she really wanted to remember; she'd already been in the process of blocking her time in the room and her escape from her conscious. She rubbed lightly at her sore arm and looked down. "So what brings you to the city?"

Again, she tried to attempt conversation, if only to help make sense of everything and not have to deal with how horribly awkward and unusual everything was. It was part of the reason why she was a good hairdresser; she didn't just _have _to keep conversation flowing, she _needed _to keep conversation flowing, although she was pretty sure she was breaking one of her mother's important rules right then: "Never talk to strangers."

His gruff voice replied, "Damn girl, this _'twenty_ _questions' _ or somethin'?"

"I just wanted to know," She said, almost muttering her reply whilst holding her arm, still wishing for pain relief. "I'm in a damn near stranger's car during the apocalypse, I'm just a bit curious."

There was another silence before he responded, "Supplies," He told her. "We're gatherin' supplies."

"What sorts of supplies? Do you have everything?" '_What sorts of things do you need; what kind of people are you? Have you got everything; are you leaving soon?_ ' As soon as she found out what kind of people these two were, she'd be able to decide whether or not she wanted to tag along with them, although at this point, she only cared about being protected from those things outside. The first -Daryl- already seemed to be the strong survivalist type; she knew that he'd be a good ally. Without him she'd be dead. At least, she was pretty sure it had been him; he _was _awake after all. Why would a person rescue someone and then not care about them afterwards? It didn't make any sense.

"Huntin' supplies," He responded in that short, blunt way of his. "Campin' stuff."

"Got most of it yet?" She asked, wondering how much time she had to get into their good books so that they would take her with them. God, she hoped that they didn't leave her, she doubted that she'd make it a day before she was waving around pointy things as she tried to escape a herd of those dead people.

"Leavin' soon as Merle wakes up."

Well, she definitely needed to work fast in sucking up to them, although she wasn't sure how she was supposed to do that. Maybe they'd take her with them anyway? She hoped they did, but she didn't want to assume that they would. '_Never assume because it makes an ass out of you and me.' _was one of her favourite quotes growing up, if only because repeating it allowed her to say 'ass' and not get in trouble. Plus, it was a good quote, and reminded her to never just assume things; something that had definitely prevented some pretty tricky situations from time to time.

She decided to just go in for the kill. She only had a couple of hours left; definitely not enough time to become their friend and prove her worth. In fact, she had the niggling feeling that they thought she was a massive liability, especially with the way that she'd been saved from the dead earlier. And she had a wound in her arm; how the hell was she going to protect anyone with that? They'd be better off just leaving her. Could they do that?

"Did you need another set of eyes and ears?" She very nearly pleaded with him; she almost crossed her fingers.

It was extremely quiet again, she could hear her own breathing and Merle's light snoring, both of which seemed oddly loud. The atmosphere felt tense as she waited for Daryl's reply. God, she wanted to go with them. _'Please don't leave me in the city, please, please, please, I'm begging you.' _

She didn't even care who they were; she needed a group- safety in numbers and all that stuff. Besides, even if they were bad people, at least she'd be able to get out of the city and then make a run for it. There couldn't be that many dead things walking around the country-side, right? She'd also bet that these guys had a fair few weapons that were more effective than hair scissors, maybe she could take a couple of them and make a run for it as soon as they were away from the city.

"Yer just another mouth to feed," He told her eventually. "We ain't got time to go protectin' ya and shit."

The first inklings of daylight were staring to surface, the sky slowly lightning from black, to blue. The stars (had there always been that many stars in the sky?) were slowly disappearing with the sun as it continued to steadily rise. Merle would wake soon, and then what? They'd leave her? After they'd saved her life they would just leave her and let it happen all over again?

"You don't need to protect me," She bluffed. "I can look after myself."

It was bullshit, and he knew that it was bullshit, but damn, she was so desperate. She felt like she had when she was sixteen and was begging her mom to let her go to a party with alcohol for the first time. She'd begged and pleaded but her mother hadn't relented, and made her wait until she was eighteen before she was able to go to those kinds of parties.

This was different though, it was a matter of survival.

"Please, Daryl," She begged. "Please let me go with you. I'll die out here otherwise." She was pleading with him and probably laying it on a bit thick, but she _really _didn't want to be left in the city.

"Thought ya could look after ya'self?" He responded.

The morning light was slowly allowing her to see more, and she could barely start making out colours and textures. Looking ahead, she noticed that Daryl had light brown hair -almost sandy blonde- and he was sleeveless, revealing muscular arms. She noticed that he was tan and figured that he was definitely someone who went outside a lot, but not in the way that most people around Atlanta did. No, she couldn't imagine someone like him walking a dog in the afternoon or going jogging, or even going to the gym. He was probably working class; might be a builder, and had built up a tan and muscle tone after being on construction sites for most of his life. She thought that he was older, but looking at him in this light, she figured that he couldn't be more than six years her senior; probably his mid-thirties.

"I _can _look after myself," She insisted. "It just that I don't really know what's out here; I _have _been in a little room for about a week. I need to know what it's like."

He seemed to contemplate her reasoning for a short time before she heard a groan and the car shift under her. Merle was waking.

In the new light she was able to see what the other man looked like, and came to the conclusion that had she walked by him at night on nearly empty streets, she would hold her car keys tightly and have her phone at the ready, prepared to dial nine-one-one. He felt _bad, _and she hadn't even seen his face.

He hardly had any hair, and what he _did _have appeared to be gray. His skin was whiter than Daryl's, although he had about the same amount of muscle tone. He was bigger than Daryl, more wide set, and she figured that he could easily use his size to his advantage. She guessed that he was older than the other man, and she'd be willing to bet that he was somewhere in his mid-forties.

He let out a yawn without covering his mouth, and lazily turned in his seat to look at Daryl.

"Mornin' Darylina, thought I heard yer," His voice was slightly raspy, and she didn't think it had anything to do with the morning. He was probably a smoker or a user; she'd only ever heard that rasp in people who abused their bodies with substances. He turned around further in his seat to look at her, and a leery smile worked its way onto his face. _Late _forties, she decided when she saw the skin that was starting to bag on his cheeks and the wrinkles that were forming around his eyes. "Lookie here, Princess is awake; how're yer doin' Sugar? Bit of a scare yesterday when I found yer in the shop, looked like yer were gonna be walker meat 'till I saved yer skinny ass. What's yer name darlin'?"

She immediately didn't like him.

"Rebecca." She replied carefully. She didn't like this situation at all, in fact, she was briefly considered whether or not escaping the city with them was even worth it if she had to be around a person like Merle. If her mother knew what was happening she'd have a fit. _Any _mother would have a fit if their daughter was around someone like the older man.

"It's lovely ta meet yer Rebecca. D'yer mind if I call yer Bec?" He asked her. She shook her head silently."Sorry 'bout my lil' brother Darylina over here, he ain't much of a talker. You like to talk?"

His tone felt light and friendly, although she wasn't going to mistake him for anything other than a sleeze. He'd called her 'Sugar', for Christ sake; _no one _calls anyone 'sugar' unless they're looking for some. Hell, he'd mentioned her 'skinny ass' in the same sentence! She didn't mind a bit of attention every now and then, but attention coming from Merle made her feel uncomfortable. In this new world, there _were _no cops -no one to protect her- she truly did have to watch her back.

She was suddenly very aware of the fact that she was in a car with two strange men -one definitely leery- in a time where there were no laws. She felt very, very scared. God, she wished that her mother was there.

"Yer don't hafta answer me sugar, but things get pretty damn lonely with just him for company," He pointed at Daryl, who continued looking straight ahead. "After a couple of days you'll be _beggin' _ol' Merle for company." He chuckled, and she didn't know how to feel.

She looked down at her lap, not knowing whether or not she should be feeling glad that they were planning on taking her with them, or scared that she _was _going to be going with them. She felt that she could trust Daryl, and had it only been him she would have gladly went along. But this was _Merle _and in all honesty, she didn't trust him. Maybe she was being too harsh, maybe it was just his way of speaking, but from the dominance he asserted over his brother by using a feminine name to refer to him, and the suggestive, intimate way he spoke to her which left her feeling extremely uncomfortable, she felt that her feelings were backed.

She didn't think that she'd ever want to beg him for company.

"Cat gotcher tongue there purty girl?" He asked as he placed a hand on her seat, right next to her legs. She nearly jumped, but didn't want to make any sudden moves. He was like a time bomb waiting to go off, she was sure; like a wild animal that she had to step very carefully around. If she moved too fast, he'd eat her alive. "How's that arm of yours doin'? Still hurt?"

"Yeah." She nodded in response and absently rubbed it, wishing for painkillers.

"I'm goin' to tie down the supplies." Daryl announced suddenly as he stepped out of the car, giving Merle a look before he walked to the back. Merle waved him off, turning his attention back to her. She felt the car bounce slightly under Daryl's weight as he stepped up into the trailer outside.

"You've gotta lotta hair pokin' up, yer should brush it down and make it look purty for us."

She slowly reached up to her head and felt her short hair sticking up in every direction. She hadn't washed it for a week and the hairspray, as well as the straightening she done to it before everything happened, made it frizz up everywhere. She'd give anything for her old bottle of upmarket colour-protect shampoo and conditioner right now. And a hairbrush. A straightener wouldn't hurt either, if only there was electricity around.

Suddenly Merle banged his hand on the roof of the car, making her jump slightly.

"Yer ready lil' brother? Let's get this show on the road!" Merle called as Daryl jumped down from the trailer. "Yer gonna drive again?" Merle asked him as he got into the front seat and slammed his door shut. Rebecca quickly fiddled around for a seat belt so that she could strap herself in.

"It's my damn car." Daryl replied. With a quick flick of his wrist, the car roared to life. "Get out there and open them gates."

Merle smirked at him, "Already on it, don' get yer panties in a twist now." And exited the car, sauntering forward so that he could undo the chain that held the fence closed.

This was it. Rebecca was going to get out of the city.

Was escaping the best option though? Was being with a guy like Merle seriously better than escaping? She hardly needed to think about it. Of course escaping was better than being ripped apart by those things out there. She knew that as long as she stuck close to them, she wasn't in nearly as much danger of being eaten by dead people as she would be if she was alone. Her last -and only- experience with them told her that she was prone to panicking, which was obviously not a good thing considering how that had nearly gotten her killed last time.

_Merle _had saved her. Fucking _Merle. _

Despite how she felt about him personally, she _still _knew that she owed him. Just how would she pay him back for saving her life? Could she? Did she have to?

Daryl drove the car forward and stopped to let Merle in, before hitting the gas and taking off through the deserted city streets, the morning light softly glinting off the windows in the tall buildings, illuminating what used to be the bustling city of Atlanta.

She leaned her head back on the seat and closed her eyes, enjoying the brief feeling of escape.

* * *

They were about half an hour out of city when Daryl heard Merle chuckle.

"Oh would'yer look at that! Lil' Princess is fast asleep." Daryl looked into the rear-view mirror and sure enough, Rebecca was sleeping, her head lolling to the side, supported only by the seat belt. It didn't look very comfortable. "Ain't she a darlin'?"

Daryl narrowed his eyes at Merle, all too familiar with the sort of person that his older brother was. All throughout his childhood Daryl could remember Merle bringing girls back to their shitty trailer, where they'd bang for a while until he apparently got bored. They never stayed the night.

Daryl had very quickly come to learn that his brother would fuck anything with a pulse. In fact, Daryl had been unfortunate enough to be the one who had to purchase Merle's clap medication because he was banned from the chemist for shoplifting.  
It was embarrassing enough buying stuff to treat a Sexually Transmitted Infection, but it was even worse being thirteen and having to do it for an irresponsible older brother who treated the clap like a cold.

In fact, Daryl had always been the one who had to look after his brother. Merle Dixon may have raised his younger brother when their mom couldn't, but as Daryl started to become more independent, he began to realise just how much care his older brother needed.

Daryl had never been particularly clean himself; he usually let the washing pile up for days and sometimes -practically all the time- he re-wore dirty clothes that he'd been out hunting and working in. But out of the two brothers, he was the one who did the bitch jobs while Merle laid in bed high and with a hangover. Daryl was the one who hunted for food when the money ran out, he was the one who attempted cooking on occasion, hell, he was the one who went out working nine-to-five and came home to clear up the beer cans and empty Southern Comfort from around the place.

'_Yer ain't got no balls lil' brother!' _Merle would tease when he found Daryl attempting to put a load of washing on, _'Yer got a secret vagina down there? That's why yer fuckin' stink so much Darylina!' _

Daryl never paid it much mind, Merle _was _his brother, but sometimes he would go out hunting and pretend that he was putting an arrow through his brother's head. He usually did pretty good on those days, too.

"Fuckin' knock it off, Merle," Daryl chided, looking at his brother. "She ain't gonna be interested."

He glanced into the rear-view mirror again and noticed that the seat belt was digging into her neck. Damn girl must have been tired not to wake up from that. He noticed his hunting jacket rolled up in the back on the seat next to her.

"Merle, see the jacket back there?" Daryl asked his brother. "Bunch it up an' put it under her head so it doesn't fall off."

Merle quickly looked behind him at the sleeping girl and smirked, turning his whole body in the seat so that he could grab the jacket behind him. It was tricky, but he managed to place it under her neck without waking her.

When he sat back down in his seat, he hit Daryl on the shoulder. "Good thinkin' brother, now she gonna be feelin' all nice and secure."

Daryl glared at him.

"Don' be givin' ol' Merle that look now Darylette, it's all in good fun."

"No it ain't, yesterday you were talkin' about fuckin' her because she'll feel _obligated_ to_. _That shit ain't right, Merle."

Not missing a beat, Merle replied, "Yer break my heart! She likes me, yer saw how she just went with us, that's tellin' yer she likes me!" He chuckled. "Ain't no slut that didn't like me."

Daryl kept his eyes on the road, itching for another smoke to settle himself. He wasn't particularly fond of Rebecca; the damn girl was just another way to deplete resources, yet he didn't agree with his brother's views on her- or any girl for that matter.

Merle looked at his brother and smirked. "Yer know what yer problem is Daryl?" Daryl didn't respond. "Yer get yer dick wet once and suddenly it's love; yer can't fuckin' remove yer damn self and enjoy it. Fuckin' pussy, that's what yer are. What was 'er name back home? Fuckin' Tiffany, right? The one who figured she ain't gonna want yer dick no more and yer moped about after she left?"

Daryl's hands tightened on the steering wheel.

"Fuckin' pussy," Merle repeated with a chuckle. "Yer like a lost puppy; give yer a bit o' lovin' and suddenly yer followin' 'em around everywhere." He put his hands behind his head and relaxed, stretching his legs out onto the dashboard. "Yer gotta stop gettin' so emotional and shit, just enjoy lettin' yer dick out e'rry once'n a while."

"Take a page outta my book lil' brother; chicks are good for two things: cookin' and suckin' yer dick after a long, hard day."

Damn, he needed really needed a good fuckin' smoke.

* * *

It was an hour-or-so later when Rebecca blinked her eyes open sleepily, yawing and stretching her arms in front of her, rubbing her sore arm that protested the movement. A quick inventory of her surroundings told her that there was a thick piece of material under her right cheek that smelt faintly of pine trees and cigarette smoke. It was strange, but not disgusting. She tugged it out from under her cheek and held it in front of her face for closer inspection.

It was a dark blue colour, made from some sort of heavy material, and seemed to be a jacket of some kind. She hoped that it wasn't Merle's, although she had her doubts, considering that she couldn't imagine Merle smelling like pine trees. She thought that he'd smell like car oil and gasoline.

The next thing she noticed was that the car was parked, and that she was the only one inside. A tight ball of fear quickly wound itself in the pit of her stomach as she hurriedly tried to make out her surroundings.

The car was parked in small clearing, surrounded by thick green pine trees and the sound of chattering birds. Looking behind her through the back window, she made note of the fact that there was only a tiny, small dirt road that looked like it was leading out of the small clearing and toward where she thought the road would be.

She didn't know if she was safe. Would the brothers just leave her like that, out in the open? She looked through the back window again, and noticed that most of the supplies were still there. This could be her chance to run. All she needed to do was grab a knife; maybe a couple of bundled blankets, and she'd be right on her way back to the main road where she could wander around for a new group.

More importantly though, the supplies in the back meant that the brothers were around somewhere, so they would see her trying to pinch their stuff. She didn't think that Daryl would really care if she took off, but Merle, he would surely think that it was all a big game, wouldn't he? His type thought that everything was a game.

She remembered when she was just a little kid after her daddy left. Her mom had been on the rebound and gotten involved with a guy like Merle. She didn't remember his name; probably blocked it out, but her mom sure would remember it.

Old, greasy and gross that man had been. He'd make suggestive jokes about everything with tits and an ass, his leery grin watching any pretty female as she walked away. _"You're gonna be a fine thing,"_ He'd told her one night while her mother cooked dinner in the next room. _"Can't wait 'till you're legal." _

She'd told her mother right away, who'd immediately kicked him out. He'd go around there a few times afterwards, kicking bins down outside and calling the house phone while he stood on the front porch, but eventually, he'd found another poor woman to pick on, leaving her and her mother alone.

If she ran now, Merle would probably follow her.

She carefully opened the car door and stepped tentatively outside, hating herself for choosing to wear black flats to work the day of the apocalypse. She stepped a couple of feet away from the car and stretched again; it felt so good to finally be back on her feet. She rolled her good shoulder a few times and then rolled her injured one very carefully, gauging how sore it was going to be. It hurt a lot, the same deep throb, but she was slowly becoming accustomed to it. She wondered if Daryl had any bandages lying around so that she could re-wrap it.

Suddenly there was a rustle in the bushes and she jumped, ready to climb back into the car and lock herself in there if one of those dead things came stumbling out. Luckily, she quickly found that it was Daryl holding a crossbow, looking very annoyed as he practically stomped toward the car. This was the first time that she'd seen him from the front, and she'd be lying if she said that she didn't like what she saw. His good looks, however, didn't make up for his intimidation.

He looked up at her and she saw him huff before he put his head back down and trudged toward the car. When he finally reached the back of the trailer he started ruffling through the many supply-filled packs that were back there, apparently searching for something.

Rebecca put her hands in her jeans pockets and walked around to see what he was doing. She didn't think that she'd be any help, but maybe she could thank him for taking her out of the city, despite it being at Merle's insistence.

"Thank you," She started as she stood near him. "Thanks for taking me out of the city and- and thank you for looking after me earlier today; I appreciate it." She placed her hands on the side of the trailer and leaned forward on it, finding that the metal was pleasantly warm.

He grunted in response and finally pulled out what looked like a few cans of tomato soup.

"Did you want me to start a fire or something?" She offered, feeling bad about eating their food. She was absolutely starving and desperately needed to eat, yet she didn't feel like she deserved it. In a way, she felt like she was taking food from a small, family-run business without paying. It didn't sit right with her.

Daryl paused and looked at her quizzically. "D'you even know how to make a fire?"

"You have any matches?" She asked him, and he sighed, walking a little way from the car and setting the soup on the ground.

She followed him and waited, not really sure what she was doing. She just wanted to help, she didn't care if she was stuck rationing food and organising it; she just wanted to make herself useful somehow.

"Stop followin' me," She heard him say. He stood up and slung his crossbow over his shoulder, turning to look at her. "Yer nothin' but an inconvenience; just a distraction."

Hurt, but not willing to give up and miss the chance to prove her worth, she pressed him for something to do. "I'll do anything," She insisted. "Just name it and I'll do it; I don't want to be a burden."

He rolled his eyes at her and sighed, pointing at the edge of the forest in front of them.

"I'm collectin' stuff for the fire; twigs, sticks, dry leaves," He started. "I'll be just in there." He pointed in the other direction and eyed her carefully. "Merle's over'n that direction, try and keep away; he don't like to be distracted."

She nodded solemnly and followed him as he started walking toward the edge of the forest. "Yer can help me gather stuff for the fire; don't go away too far and keep right on the edge, yer hear me? Stay where you can see me. Yer hear anythin', holler."

"Aye, aye, captain." She replied, saluting him. He smirked at her and walked off, leaving her to look around for dry sticks and twigs on the forest floor. Thankfully, they seemed to be in abundance and she'd found plenty in no time at all. "Daryl!" She called. "I'm taking these sticks to the clearing!" She heard him make a muffled affirmative from somewhere close and she made her way to the open space where the car was.

She hummed a tune as she walked and bent down to place the wood she'd collected next to the soup cans Daryl had gotten from the back of the truck a short time earlier.

It wasn't until she looked up, however, did she notice that she wasn't quite alone as she first thought.

Screaming, the acrid smell of death and the pale, dead eyes that once belonged to people flashed in her mind's eye. The horror, the fear, the feeling the cold hands on her skin as they tried to tear her apart paralysed her. she stood, frozen in terror as one of those dead _things _lumbered toward her.

* * *

**Chapter Two down!  
First of all I'd like to give a big, big massive thanks to **_**Leyshla Gisel**_** who was the only reviewer for Chapter One, and another thank you to the 150 people who thought that my story sounded interesting and decided to read the first chapter.  
I'm hoping that I'm writing Rebecca as realistic as possible. Honestly, I don't think that **_**any **_**female would initially feel comfortable in Merle's presence.  
Also, Rebecca won't always be clinging to Daryl to come and save her. I think that eventually she's going to realise that she can't always go calling for him to help her. Pretty soon she'll have to start thinking like a Dixon ;) **

**Anyway, if you read this chapter, please, please review! I'm relying on you guys to point me in the right direction with my writing and in particular, in how I write OC's.  
Thank you! **


End file.
